


Completely, Totally, Wholly

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Asexual Robert Fischer, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Robert pushes himself upright and leans against Eames’ side, hooking his chin on Eames’ shoulder as he looks at the sketchpad. “Huh,” he says. “That’s...interesting.”“Is it not accurate?” Eames asks.“Of course it isn’t fucking accurate,” Arthur snarls. “My ass is not that big!”
Relationships: Arthur/Eames/Robert Fischer
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2021, Loose End





	Completely, Totally, Wholly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/gifts).



> For amy, whose prompt was callipygian. Happy Valentine's Day!!
> 
> This is set in the 'verse [storm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things) started in [Loose End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050234) <3 The sparknotes of it is Robert tracks down Arthur and Eames after the Inception job and then just...never leaves ^_^

It’s mid-afternoon on the rare occasion when none of them have a job lined up, so naturally, they’re all on the couch watching TV. More specifically, Robert is dozing with his head pressed against Eames’ thigh and his feet resting in Arthur’s lap. Eames is focused entirely on the sketchpad in his lap, his fingers smudged with charcoal. And Arthur is grumbling at the numerous inaccuracies in whatever show he’s settled on for the time being.

In other words, it’s the most perfect afternoon Robert could ask for.

“What an idiot,” Arthur says. “That’s how you shoot your dick off, jackass.”

Eames hums. “You tell them, petal.”

Calloused fingers trail through Robert’s hair, then Arthur says, “Eames, you’re getting the charcoal all over him.”

“I’ll help him wash it off in the shower later.”

There’s a pause. “Eames.”

“You’re invited, too, of course.”

Robert smiles to himself and leans into Eames’ fingers. He’s in that lovely, floaty space between awake and asleep, when the world is blurry in the best of ways. Months ago, that would have terrified him, but now he knows Arthur and Eames will always be here to keep him grounded.

One of Arthur’s hands wraps around his ankle, fingers gently tracing patterns into his skin. 

Robert hums happily, and rests.

At the next commercial break, he feels Arthur’s weight shift, then his grip on Robert’s ankle tightens. “Eames,” Arthur says, “what the _fuck_ is that?”

Eames sighs heavily. “It was supposed to be a surprise, petal. I distinctly remember telling you not to look.”

“You’re doing it on the couch right next to me, asshole. Did you really think I wouldn’t look?”

“You know, in a different context, that would be—”

“Don’t even think about trying to distract me with flirting, Eames.”

Robert opens his eyes and looks up at Eames. “What did you do now?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Eames protests.

“Mhm.” Robert pushes himself upright and leans against Eames’ side, hooking his chin on Eames’ shoulder as he looks at the sketchpad. “Huh,” he says. “That’s...interesting.”

“Is it not accurate?” Eames asks.

“Of course it isn’t fucking accurate,” Arthur snarls. “My ass is not that big!”

“What do you think, Robbie?” Eames asks.

“It’s...a butt,” Robert says. “Everyone has one.”

Arthur covers his mouth with a hand, but not before Robert catches a glimpse of the smile he’s trying to hide. “Why are you drawing such detailed studies of my ass, Eames?” he asks, mostly steadily.

“You can’t blame me for looking.” Eames shoots him an innocent look. “Honestly, petal, you ought to speak to your tailor. The cut of your trousers is practically obscene these days. You dropped a pen on our last job together, and poor Whitcomb practically passed out when you bent over to pick it up.”

Arthur stares at him. “He did not.”

“How would you know? Do you have eyes in the back of your arse?”

Robert snickers. “What’s this for, Eames? Really?” he asks, wrapping his arm around Eames’ waist so he can stay plastered to Eames’ side. 

“If I told you,” Eames says grandly, “it would hardly be a surprise.”

Arthur grumbles. “I want to yell at you more, but I know that whatever I say, you’ll turn it into some double entendre about how much you love my ass.”

“It wouldn’t be half as subtle as a double entendre, love,” Eames says, setting his sketchpad and charcoals aside. “But in case it was unclear: I love your arse.”

Robert laughs again, and Eames twists around. Before he can blink, Robert’s sprawled back on the couch with Eames crouched over him. “I love your arse, too, Robbie,” Eames says. “I don’t say that nearly as often as I’d like to.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Robert quips. 

Arthur laughs and shifts until Robert’s head is resting in his lap. He runs one of his hands down Robert’s chest, then back up until he can tangle his fingers with Eames’. 

Robert sighs happily and lets his eyes drift shut again. “Love you guys,” he whispers.

“Love you, too,” Arthur says warmly. 

“Both of us?” Eames teases.

Arthur grumbles. 

“What was that, darling? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

Arthur’s weight shifts, and Robert opens his eyes just in time to see them kiss over his head. “Wait,” Arthur says after a moment, “Eames you’re crushing Robert.”

“Can’t have that,” Eames murmurs, standing just long enough for Robert to sit up again. Arthur pulls Robert into his lap, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Good?” Arthur asks, pressing a kiss to Robert’s temple.

Robert nods and leans back against Arthur’s chest with a smile.

“Bloody beautiful, more like,” Eames says. He kneels on the couch and pulls Arthur into another kiss, Robert tucked happily between them, exactly where he loves to be.

*

A week later, Robert wakes up to a half-empty bed. Arthur’s sleeping in front of him, facing the door, but the space Eames usually fills behind him is cold.

“What time is it?” Arthur asks quietly.

Robert’s gotten used to how easily Arthur wakes, so he simply kisses his shoulder and twists around to see the clock. “Seven.”

“Why did Eames get up so early?” Arthur sighs and pushes himself out of bed. “Come on,” he says, holding out a hand to Robert. “Let’s go see what our troublemaker’s up to.”

They head down the hall hand in hand, and find Eames in the living room. 

“Morning,” Arthur says drily. “Did you even sleep?”

Eames says, “If you hate it, that’s okay.”

“Hate what?” Robert asks, then he sees the painting.

It’s beautiful. That’s the first and only thing Robert thinks. It’s sitting on an easel Eames must have dragged downstairs from his little second floor art studio, and it’s...it’s...

“Eames,” Arthur says, voice rough. “This is...”

“Us,” Robert finishes. “It’s us.”

Eames tucks his hands in his pockets and tries to smile. “You think so?”

Robert crosses the room, pulling Arthur along, and wraps Eames up in a hug. “It’s perfect,” he says. “Thank you.”

Arthur presses himself against Eames’ other side and pulls Eames’ head down onto his shoulder. “I’m not worthy.”

“You are,” Eames says. “You both are.”

Robert turns them all so he can stare at Eames’ art more. The longer he looks, the more symbols he sees, subtle references nobody else would understand. 

"I know we never do anything for Valentine's, but I wanted to do something to commemorate us," Eames says, almost tripping over his own words."All three of us. Because I never expected this in my wildest dreams, but I love our life and our home and...well, I just—"

Robert leans forward and kisses Eames lightly, just enough to quiet him. "I love you, too. Both of you."

Arthur smiles softly. "Completely unexpected, totally unconventional, and wholly perfect. That's what we are. And I wouldn't change a thing."

They stay wrapped around each other for a little longer, a messy tangle of limbs. Robert twists his head so he can stare at the painting more and smiles.

“I really love the painting, Eames,” he says. “But I have a question.”

“No, I will not shag you in front it,” Eames says. “Oh, wait, wrong boyfriend.”

Robert laughs. “I just want to know why you needed to do so many sketches of Arthur’s ass. I’m assuming this was the surprise?”

Arthur looks at Robert, then glares at Eames. “He’s right. Why the fuck were you so fixated on my ass? It isn’t even there!”

“Clearly you aren’t looking hard enough. And besides,” Eames says, slipping a hand down to cup Arthur’s ass, “I can obsess over your arse any time I want. Boyfriend privileges and all.”

“You bastard,” Arthur says, but his eyes are steadily growing more heated, and he presses a little more firmly against Eames. 

“And that’s my cue,” Robert says, extricating himself from their three-way hug with a smile. “Go burn off some energy.”

“No, no, no.” Eames grabs his wrist and reels him back in. "I know we don't exactly act like it, but I swear Arthur and I can keep it in our pants long enough to woo our better third on Valentine's Day."

"Our best third," Arthur corrects, kissing Robert's forehead and nuzzling him gently. 

Robert smiles and says, “Alright. But if you want to have sex in front of this painting, I’m going to have to ask you to move it to another room first."

Arthur laughs and Eames says, “There’s the cutthroat businessman we know and love.”


End file.
